


Material Things

by ashinan



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony doesn't do Christmas. Too bad no one told the rest of the Avengers that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Material Things

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel of sorts to Lully Lulla Lullay. Christmas fic for an awesome tumblr follower!

It’s no secret that Tony isn’t good at Christmas. Or, well, maybe it is, except to his machines, and, well, Pepper Potts and Steve Rogers. And it’s not like Tony’s had much to celebrate the last some odd years, what with Aunt Peggy dying after his first real Christmas, and then his parents dying when he was seventeen, and then the general spiral that became Tony’s life.

Christmas doesn’t really have a place in Tony’s world. Except now, apparently, it did.

In all honesty, he thought him being in New York would stop Pepper from coming down into the workshop and cornering him. He was definitely wrong, because she’s here now, staring at him with green fire in her eyes, and she’s kind of beautiful, still, even after they whole mess that was their relationship. She’s brilliant and fiery and _so much more_ than Tony ever deserved to have in the first place and no wonder their relationship went south. He wonders, still, why she stays with him, why she puts up with him, when they’ve done everything under the sun to prove Tony unworthy. Tony catches a soft three behind her ear and can’t stop the sad smile that turns up his lips, tuning back into her words.

Pepper raises an eyebrow at him and keeps talking like she hasn’t noticed him tuning out. Which she, of course, has. “And really, Tony, I’ve managed to grab all of the Avengers their gifts already, all of them from ‘you’, except, of course, for Steve. And if you can’t figure out how to damn well woo Captain America at Christmas, I will stab you in the leg. With a wrench. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve figured out enough about your workshop that I can probably _find_ a wrench sharp enough to do the job. And don’t think anyone will help you find a present for Steve. This has to come from _you_ , Tony. I have complete faith that you can accomplish it without minimal fuss. All right?”

She pokes him lightly in the chest before turning on her heel  He stalls, trying to sort out everything she just said, everything she had causally dumped on him, but before he can even get out a, “Wait, what?” she’s up the stairs and out of sight.

Tony blinks at the silence in his workshop and says, “Well, fuck.”

 —

He purses his lips at the lights around him, grabbing a few and tossing them in the general direction of the waste basket. If he moves part C to the other side, he might be able to change the density rating surrounding the entire shell. But that would take away from the flexibility of the entire thing. Maybe he should use a different alloy all together, change the sketch pad into something that can be used as a weapon? No, Steve would want to _protect_ the sketches inside, not destroy them. Tony scrubs a hand through his hair when Jarvis clicks at him.

“Sir, Captain Rogers descending the stairs.”

Tony scrambles to hide the project, then realizes it looks like such a convoluted mess that Steve won’t even recognize what Tony’s been fiddling around with. _Tony_ doesn’t even know what he’s been doing anymore, based on the schematics that have been tossed around like marbles, and he can hear Steve entering the code for the workshop. He turns just in time to watch Steve walk through the door and is slightly surprised when Steve’s breath hitches.

“Oh, wow,” Steve says, eyes wide as he takes in the mass holographic filling up most of Tony’s workshop. Tony looks at the pieces around him, can feel their beauty like chips in his chest, and shakes away the feeling.

“Hey, Cap, what can I do for you?”

Steve blinks out of his daze and moves further into the shop, skirting around holograms and generally being amusing. Tony waits for him in the middle of the room, clearing out space for Steve to stand. Steve says, “Oh, well, I was wondering if you’ve seen my choir CD? You know, the Sinclair Singers? I had it two days ago and was planning on using it during yoga.”

That image gets stuck in his head, of Steve doing yoga, and well, wow, he can’t deal with this right now. He says, “Yeah, no, not so much, sorry. How are you liking it, by the way?”

“You’ve asked me that five times since you gave it to me, Tony.” Steve smiles at him and Tony looks away. “It’s great; I’ve been able to draw and meditate quite well to them. Their hymns are calming.”

“Good, good, glad to hear. Uh, sorry, but I’m kind of fiddling around here and I need –” Tony gestures at the space Steve is filling, and he hates that he is making Steve leave. Steve flushes.

“Oh, of course. If you do find it, though, I would love it back.” Steve turns, waving over his shoulder. “And Natasha wanted me to inform you that under no circumstances are you to stay up all night on Christmas Eve. We’re going to open presents early, apparently.”

Tony bites at his tongue. “Course. Bye, Cap.”

When Steve is safely out of sight, Tony scrubs a hand through his hair and breathes deep. Damnit, what was he thinking, with the electronics and technology? No matter how easily Steve has grasped the concepts of the modern age, he still likes to do things old fashioned. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He looks up at the holograms around him, twinkling like blue and white fairy lights, and scraps the entire thing.

—

Apparently, it’s much more difficult to _shop_ for a national icon then it is to shop for, well, anyone. Not that Tony does a lot of shopping. Especially not for others. But he’s been to three different art supplies stores, a separate electronics store, and a clothing store before he throws up his hands in frustration. He knows he can do this, he’s _Tony fucking Stark_ , he can find a present for Steve. He got him that CD from the choir two weeks prior, and, oh, that would’ve made a _perfect_ gift for Steve. Damn his impulse control.

Tony resigns himself to his fate when the third child that day stomps on his foot as she screams at her mother. Tony wonders, vaguely, if he can sue a child.

—

Christmas is coming too fast for Tony to keep up and he finds Thor and Bruce randomly decorating the mansion with things they found in the attic. They enlist both Steve and Natasha to help, while Clint locks them out of the kitchen for strange reasons. The house is soon filled with the smell of baked goods and Tony would be enjoying this, yes, if he wasn’t still quietly freaking out about Steve’s gift. Two days before Christmas and he has _no idea_ what to even do and it’s starting to wear on him, keeping him awake at night and sending him almost into a fit of insomnia the likes of which he hasn’t seen since he made the new Iron Man suit.

Of course, the others don’t notice because no one does, and Tony goes about staring at schematic after schematic, scrapping holographic designs and tearing apart metallic doodads. He’s going insane and it would be so simple, so very easy if he could just _read Steve’s mind_ and figure out what he wanted. Tony could handle that.

Instead, Clint feeds them cookies and cake balls and Thor puts up mistletoe and Steve locates his CD after Tony had searched for it himself, thinking he could do something with the CD to appease Steve. Gentle hymns fill the air and Tony’s left panicking.

—

He decides, Christmas Eve, that fuck it, he’ll go with what he knows, what he _hopes_ he knows, from past experience. He gets up the nerve to text Steve around two in the morning, fingers unnaturally clumsy on the keys, and then he’s left waiting for either a reply or for Steve to appear. The living room is lit by the soft light coming off the Christmas tree and Tony fiddles with his shirt, staring down at the cufflinks and wondering, always wondering, if Steve will be okay with this. If everything will actually end correctly and it’s officially _Christmas Day_ as of two hours ago, so he really hopes it will and he bites his lip, wanders around the living room again, and sighs up at the clock.

“Okay, okay, I can do this. Steve will probably, most likely – maybe? – no, he’ll like the present. Oh, but what if he doesn’t. Sixty three percent probability says he _won’t_ but I could be accounting for random variables that don’t exist in this instance and really, I don’t understand why Pepper would _do this_ to me. It’s not right, she’s not right, I should have her _fired_. Again.”

Tony winces and sits down on the couch, head in his hands. He breathes out, catches the flicker of a percentile and shoves it back into place in his head. The couch dips beside him and Tony jumps, numbers flickering behind his eyes and taking in information about texture and colour and _Steve_.

“Hello!” Tony says, too loud still, and Tony bites at his tongue. Steve cocks his head to the side but smiles.

“Tony, I thought we agreed you’d sleep on Christmas Eve.” There’s just the faintest trace of disappoint in Steve’s voice and Tony backtracks as fast as he can.

“No, see, I was going to sleep, initially, but then I got distracted, as I am wont to do, with the idea of what to get you for Christmas? And originally, see, I made up these blueprints for a new tablet that you could carry around because you always have your sketchbook and I saw you talking to Bruce once, asking about a safe place to store your finished drawings, so I thought maybe a tablet would be _awesome_. But then I couldn’t help but think how much you prefer to do things the old fashioned way, so I thought I would just buy you a new set of sketchbooks, maybe some pencils, but the store had a _ridiculous_ amount of pencils and I didn’t know which one to get you.” Tony breathes in and chances a look at Steve. Steve is staring at him, eyes a little wide, but that’s perfectly normal. Tony barrels on, “So, then I thought, okay, well, I could alter a few of the programs around the house to play that choir CD. But for some reason I couldn’t find the CD and then you had it on all week and I didn’t just want to _take_ it because you would notice and then I worried that maybe you wouldn’t want random choir music waking you up in the morning.

“So, after many hours worrying about this, I just decided – well, I mean, it worked for Aunt Peggy, so – well, I’m glad you woke up and that you came to live here and that I got to know you and, well, here?” And Tony breathes in, lifts his arms, and tilts his head at Steve.

Steve eyes him for a moment, obviously confused, before he seems to remember. He smiles, that soft, little one that Tony only ever sees when something really pleases Steve, and Tony’s arms are shaking. Steve says, “Oh, Tony,” and reaches for him, gathering Tony in a tight hug. Tony breathes out against Steve’s shoulder, tightening his arms around Steve’s back.

“Merry Christmas, Steve.”

Steve laughs against his temple. “I’ve never had a better present. Merry Christmas, Tony.”

And everything, in that moment, is all right in the world.

Of course, that’s when Natasha decides that early presents meant _early presents_ and all the Avengers come bursting through the door, tumbling in and not noticing Tony or Steve on the couch initially, until Clint vaults himself over and practically onto Tony’s lap without realizing. There’s too much yelling, and a general amount of hand waving before everyone settles down, and Bruce is gently handing out presents and Clint is passing out his baking and Thor is finding great pleasure in the randomness of gift giving.

The entire time, Steve keeps a hand curled over Tony’s, that same soft smile on his face. And Tony thinks, with all the probabilities and all the percentiles, that this Christmas didn’t turn out half so bad.


End file.
